


It's just that I've been losing

by Lapiine (Egsnorts)



Category: Brick (2005)
Genre: Angst, Brick fandom grab your emotionally constipated boys, Implied Relationships, Implied Violence, M/M, More specifically.... teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 17:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14623257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Egsnorts/pseuds/Lapiine
Summary: Brendan calls The Brain."...The Brain's voice is soft and edged with concern. There's another moment of car-drone radiator tick-silence, and Brendan considers slamming the receiver down, walking home."





	It's just that I've been losing

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from These Days by Nico.  
> Also thank you so much to everybody else who's written stuff for Brick! You are a balm on my needy gay soul

The payphone drills once, twice before it's picked up, a mechanical whirr-thunk like a gunshot inside the slim glass booth.

Miles away, Brendan sighs shallowly, his ragged panting a parody of the measured breathing on the other side of the line. He can hear noises on the other end- a shuffle of cloth, a radiator buzzing, a car droning, the Brain breathing. But other than that, it's silent. He feeds on it for a moment, his breathing labored as he opens his mouth to speak.

_"Brain?"_

Headlights cast neon, flickering alien lights across the roof of the payphone, and Brendan allows his eyes to flick upward, the cut on his forehead stinging as he cranes his head. _"Yeah?"_ Brendan runs his tongue along the inside of his lip. It hasn't split yet, thank god, but there's a nasty groove lined with congealed blood where his teeth caught against the slick flesh. All things considered, he isn't in that bad of a shape. He can feel the makings of a black eye in the throb that runs through his skull, and where the skin below his brow is pink and tender, the hard edge where a loose fist just managed to nick-

And then he realizes the Brain is talking, the plastic casing in his palm slick with sweat.

_"-Which is promising, but other'n that I 'ain't got a bite-"_

He has to worry at his temples with his hand for a moment, brain stalling. The lights pass, and drag down hard over where his eyes are closed, making his vision glow red for a moment. A thick, plastic, burning smell. The sound of rushing water.

_"Brendan?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Not feeling so hot."_

It isn't a question. He can hear the Brain's voice turn curt, disappointed. This isn't where he wanted the conversation to go, obviously, and Brendan feels a lick of embarrassment at turning this in an unwarranted direction. He didn't need to put this on the Brain, after all. He could've dragged his sorry ass home. Nobody wants to play nurse.

_"Caught some heat- small time, no big deal. I'll be patched up Tuesday."_

It's not technically a lie. He hasn't specified which Tuesday, after all.

_"Business as usual. You'll let me know if something else happens, right?"_

Brendan lets his voice get hitched in his throat, one hand shoved deep in the worn fabric of his jacket.

He passes his tongue over his lips again, which only makes him aware of how dry his throat is, what he'd give for a couch and a blanket and a glass of water right now. Leaning against the clear and aluminum wall of the payphone is a sorry substitute.

_"Whatever you say. Got anything else for me?"_

_"No."_

The Brain's voice is soft and edged with concern. There's another moment of car-drone radiator tick-silence, and Brendan considers slamming the receiver down, walking home.

_"I'll be fine, Brain. Things have been looking up."_

_"Yeah, Mr magic 8 ball? Could you put Brendan back on please?"_

He sounds upset, and Brendan winces involuntarily. Something hurts in his chest, and it has nothing to do with the bruises slowly blooming around his eye, or the chunk that's been knocked off the bridge of his nose.

Neither of them speak for a moment, and Brendan has to lean forward, has to press his head against the cool glass, has to concentrate real hard on not passing out. It's difficult not to fill the buzz of the receiver with imaginary sounds; he's convinced for a moment that it's raining, that footsteps are approaching, or that he's listening to the trickle of water in the ravine, or that Brain is crying on the other end of the line.

 _"Get some sleep."_ Is all he mumbles after a long, long time.

Brendan does.


End file.
